Now I get it

I HAVE just had lunch with Chris Moyles.

When I say that, of course I don't mean 'with' as in 'at the same table'.

Or 'his being aware of my existence'.

I mean 'with' in the same sense as Tonight With Trevor McDonald was ever 'with' Trevor McDonald, and Peter Andre was in love 'with' Jordan.

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Chris Moyles was in the pub, I was in the pub, we partook of the same air.

That's enough.

But that isn't the exciting bit.

The exciting bit, and I hope you realise I use 'exciting' in the loosest sense of the word, was getting home to discover he had tweeted a photo of the very roast dinner we had just watched him eat.

The same gravy, the same potatoes, the same clearly-Aunt-Bessie's Yorkshire pudding.

Moreover, because of Twitter, we knew the entire course of Chris Moyles' day.

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He had been woken up by the same apocalyptic downpour as us, then gone for lunch in the same pub as us, then gone home and watched X-Factor like us.

He probably had the same indigestion as us, and sang the same rousing rendition of Uptown Girl in the lounge at 10.06pm.

Probably.

That is what celebrity means nowadays.

Once a distant, untouchable entity, we now hold celebrity in the palms of our sweaty little hands.

Technology has bridged the gap between Them (rich, mostly attractive, largely doing interesting things) and Us (poor, mostly unattractive, largely scraping the dried cheese bits off the sandwich toaster and eating them).

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I never even realised I wanted to live the same Sunday as Chris Moyles, but there's a genuinely disturbing pleasure in knowing that I have.

You might remember that a while ago I wrote about Twitter, in a fairly derogatory fashion.

I didn't understand the point, I thought it would be boring, and that my friends and I would just post really banal things.

I now understand the error of my ways.

Twitter is not about the dull friends you already have.

It's about the celebrity friends you would like to have.

"Who wants to know when Stephen Fry eats a sandwich and Holly Willoughby has a poo?" the sceptics sneer.

I do! I really do! And you do too, deep down.

It can be disheartening though.

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Twitter is often like watching a party you haven't been invited to, with your nose pressed up against the window.

I mainly follow journalists, TV presenters and people from The Thick of It, who always provide decent diversion and witty comments to try to pass off in conversation as my own.

But they are also, incredibly, ALL friends.

Like a big lovely club of semi-celebrity fun, they banter back and forth on my screen all day, arranging dates and parties and super-witty events I'm not invited to.

I've half a mind to take the details of one of these gatherings, turn up and slip discreetly into the conversation as though I'd been there all along.

I will take a roast dinner and hope for the best.

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Click here for more Lauren Bravo.

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